More Ranting About the MRT, Heh

July 7, 2010 at 4:35 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride, lists, the helga manual, urban primadonna

As someone who’s been taking the MRT on a daily basis since lawd knows when, you’d think I’d have developed a high tolerance for stupidity and inconsiderate people by now. I’d like to think I’m a pretty decent commuter: I walk fast, I stay out of the way, I don’t wave my arms, hair, or bag around, I don’t push or shove (unless you’re standing in my way, texting smack in the middle of foot traffic heh), and I don’t cut lines. I only misbehave when I retaliate i.e. some chick insists on pushing when there’s absolutely no reason to. It’s not very nice but it’s my reflexes working and it feels pretty damn good when I put a bitch in place. Most of time, though, I just fume silently and/or tweet about it.

When taking public transportation, I really try my best not to be affected by the people around me. Rushing to work is stressful as it is, I don’t need getting myself all worked up over strangers. Sometimes, it’s hard not to get annoyed especially at (yes, I have a list. I like lists):

1) Men who ride in the train’s first car. I know this is a sexist rule (only females, senior citizens*, handicapped folks, and men with children can ride in the first car) but I like it because I don’t have to worry about getting groped etc.

Anyway, everyone knows about this rule. If it’s your first time riding the MRT and you’re a dude and have no knowledge of this rule, you will see signs reading “<-- DOON PO ANG LALAKI" on the chain rails on the platform (next to the humidifier filters. Oh wait, not in the Philippines). If you happen to not see the sign/s, you’ll find yourself sticking out like a sore thumb in a crowd of women while all the other dudes are NOT WHERE YOU ARE.

So how is it that some men are still completely oblivious to all these and feign ignorance when security guards shoo them away? This morning, two guys shoved past a bunch women into the train and the guard caught them too late. I had my iPod on, blasting Yeah Yeah Yeahs so I couldn’t make out the conversation but judging by the expression on the two guys’s faces, they weren’t too keen on exiting. Worse, they were blocking the way. When the guard finally got them to GTFO, the train doors were closing and the rest of us had to wait for the next train.

I wanted to punch them.

*I have an issue with male senior citizens because one time, this lolo spent the entire train ride with his crotch stuck to me while he stared at my chest. It was very uncomfortable (obvs) and the train was packed. Sure, they’re old, but they’re still men. I’ve also seen old men run through closing train doors and shoulder women out of the way.

2) People who cut lines. A lady in her 40s/50s cut the line this morning and all I could think was “Ang tanda tanda mo na, hindi ka pa din marunong pumila.” It was pretty comical, though. I was in line and I saw her as she shuffled over from the ticket windows, looked at the line/us, shuffled towards the back, shuffled back to the front, and inserted herself there.

2.1) People who have the nerve to get mad when you don’t let them cut lines. Wipe that scowl off your face.

3) People/ladies who shove you out of the way just so they can sit on the train. Whenever a train pulls up the platform and there are seats available, I DREAD IT because I know all these chicks are going to push and shove and fight and run for a seat. It’s ridiculous.

4) People who stand by the train doors and don’t move out of the way at stops, especially during rush hour and the train is packed. How do they expect people to exit properly? Move to the side or step out for a bit (you’ll still have your space in the train, really)— just get out the way.

That’s about it (for now, I guess). Just thinking about these people irritates me, ugh.

Comments (8)

My Three Most Hated Places in the Metro

June 2, 2010 at 5:19 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride, the helga manual, urban primadonna

1) MRT (Manila Rail Transit System) terminals/stations (especially at rush hour). Waiting for the train at the Araneta/Cubao station is always the most unpleasant part of my day. There is nothing I loathe more (okay, I’m exaggerating, I can think of twenty more things I hate more) than going up the escalator and seeing the throngs of people waiting for the next train. It doesn’t help that it gets really hot and humid at the stations and most women in the crowd (I take the ladies’ car) are inconsiderate stupidheads terribly in need of Acneticin who will unapologetically push you out of the way and step on your toes.

Unfortunately, taking the train is a necessity for me as cabs can get costly and I dislike city buses.

2) Greenhills Shopping Center. Once upon a time, I looooved Greenhills; in college, I would go there at least twice a month to blow my money on generic, inexpensive clothes. I would brave the crowd and I prided myself in being able to skillfully weave in and out of and through the swarm of people. And then I realized how ridiculous it was. Unless it is absolutely necessary, I stay away. I don’t care if it’s the more accessible bargain shopping mecca; if given the choice to spend a day at Greenhills or have afternoon tea a the chainsaw-wielding mentally-unstable d00d dressed in a snake costume/the devil, I’d go with the latter.

3). The walkway between MRT Ortigas Station and Guadix Drive. It’s a sidewalk right beside EDSA aka Metro Manila’s main highway. It’s not that long of a distance, thankfully, because I don’t enjoy walking beside city buses and their incessant honking and exhaust.

Photo credit: MRT Cubao station, Greenhills.

Comments (3)

FILIPINOS NEED TO BE INJECTED WITH UPPERS DURING THE EVENING UNRUSH* HOUR.

November 21, 2008 at 1:53 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride, urban primadonna

You’d think that when you’ve been taking the same route home at the same time every evening for the past two or three weeks, you’d get the hang of things and fall into a somewhat convenient routine and expect things to be the same (with the exception of rain or some other event that brings out the stupid in everyone, like I don’t know, more rain) for forever, right?

Not really.

Last night, I left work at the usual time: 9:05ish pm. The walk from my building along Emerald Avenue to the front of Galleria (the side facing EDSA) was uneventful and normal. I smoked one cigarette, zipped past people, and arrived at the bus stop only slightly sweaty with Kat DeLuna yelling into my ears. And then I noticed something unusual: a crowd of people waiting for buses that weren’t there. It wasn’t raining. Previous nights, bus conductors had to practically beg for me to choose and get on their bus. Tonight, there were no men in yellowed white polos screaming CUBAO IBABAW! LETRE! FAIRVIEW! MALANDAY! while waving signs at me.

Weird.

I took off my hoodie and stuffed it in my bag, took out another cigarette, and weighed my options: wait for a bus or walk along EDSA to the Ortigas MRT station? I peeked down the bus stop lane and saw ONE BUS and about ONE HUNDRED PEOPLE frantically trying to board it. I exaggerate the number of people, yes, but that scene alone made me decide to take the metro. Or the train, as non-pretentious Filipinos (aka not me lol) call it.

Making it past the bus stop lane alone was a challenge. Because Filipinos have this incomprehensible tendency to block the way and hassle everyone around them, I had to elbow my way through people (also: I had put out my cigarette before doing so because I am a considerate person who isn’t the kind to blow smoke directly into people’s faces. I help old folks cross the street and open doors for women, too). Once I got past that, I then had to deal with throngs of people who had the same destination as I. Lemme change that: throngs of people who had the same destination as I, walking ever so sloooooooooooowly, ambling along the very polluted EDSA like they were having a Sunday stroll at the park…which is actually an odd thing to say, as I know no Filipinos who take Sunday strolls at the park. I mean, in my 23 years here, I have yet to do that. Maybe a Saturday or a Sunday picnic at Sunken Garden (which, by the way, needs a Wikipedia entry), yes. But a Sunken Garden Sunday stroll? LOL.

So there I was, willing my feet to match their pace while I waited for the perfect opportunity to overtake the slowpokes who seemed to enjoy breathing in the vehicular exhaust. I thought I had gotten my chance when there were no people coming from the opposite direction so I switched to the left lane, quickened my step and BAM! The dude in front of me who wasn’t exactly Speedy Gonzales switched to the left lane, too. Did he speed up? Of course, not.

I wanted to slap the back of his head.

Whenever I find myself having to deal with the (public transportation-taking) Filipino masses, I always have this scene playing in my mind: basically, I am Helga and I am in a rush to get somewhere and all these people are in my way and I need to pee real bad and I am angry and so I bust out a Barbie-pink armalite and open fire and everyone turns into fuzzy pink puffballs of lint.

Yo. How’s the job search going? HUHLOLZ.

*Or as Dante suggested: settling-in-at-your-preferred-drinking-spot hour.

Comments (24)

MORNING STRESS BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE MRT.

January 23, 2008 at 12:16 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride, urban primadonna

Good morning, Helga, today is going to be an aaaawessssome! day! You woke up at 5am— three and a half hours before your class— giving you enough time to laze about and squeeze in some quality time with your Sims 2 families before having to embark on the wonderful one hour trip to school. You BOUNCE! out of bed, SKIP! to the kitchen, make your coffee with a HUGE SMILE! on your face (my my, someone’s perky this morning), and PLOP! DOWN! HAPPILY! in front of your laptop.

At 630am, you exit Sims 2, put on some Handsome Boy Modeling School, and dance around your living room as you CHEERFULLY! and EXCITEDLY! prepare yourself for work school. Jeans? Check. Top? Check. Flipflops? Check. Panties? Check. Bra? Why, check! Make-up? Check! All the nifty and useless things that go into your bag? Check!

Now say it like Spongebob: I’m ready! I’m ready! I’m ready!

You’re out your front door a little past 7am and after a trike ride, some walking, a quick LRT2 ride from Katipunan Station (the first and only underground air-conditioned station! Katipunan Kidz Reprazent!) to Cubao Station, and some more walking, you finally arrive at the Cubao MRT Station. Aaaahhhh. Smell that, Helga? That is not the smell of last Christmas’s dinner. That, my dear, is the vomit-inducing, appetite-killing, stomach-churning stenches of hell. Sometimes also known as the masses, but not when it’s this early morning and everyone looks like they just stepped out of the shower, what with their wet heads and the scent of Safeguard white on their skin.

Surprisingly, there are no lines this morning. What happy happy joy joy! You make your way up to the escalator leading to the platform and that’s when you see your first glimpse of the fiery pits of hell: A Massive Crowd.

Never the mind. The glowing red numbers on the station’s digital clock reads 720am. All’s good. It takes less than 15 minutes to get from Cubao to Buendia Station and it’s only a quick walk to your building from there. You SORTA-EAGERLY! join the crowd and wait patiently for the train.

Train comes. You get pushed to the left, the right, get pulled back a bit, and then pushed forward a bit— but never pushed forward enough to get your body inside the train.

Second train comes. You get pushed to the left, the right, get pulled back a bit, and then pushed forward a bit— but never pushed forward enough to get your body inside the train. This is all happening as you stand there, motionless. The crowd. It moves you! In an unpleasant and physical way.

Third train comes. No one gets out. No one gets in.

Fourth train comes.

Fifth train.

Sixth train. Someone’s breath stinks.

Seventh train. Can someone please, for the love of all things good and holy and cute, stop stepping on your toes?

Ninth train.

Tenth train. Lol. Someone’s fucking with you. You been waiting for 20 minutes now.

Eleventh train. You get pushed. Left. Right. Left. Right. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Oh no you di-i-n’t. Up. Up. Down. Down. Left. Right. Left. Right. A. B. Select. Start!

I’M SUPAAAAHH-CHARGED AND I GOTS 30 LIVES, IMMA KILL YOU ALL!!!!!!!! LET! ME! IN! THE! MOTHER! FUCKING! TRAIN!

And to that fagface who kept on cursing and yelling “PARANG MGA DI BABAE!” (Trans: Oooh, you guys are so rough! Like men! Que horrorz!) while the crowd so nicely pushed her inside the train: you stupid.

Comments (15)

CABS, RUSH HOUR, MKAE.

January 9, 2008 at 11:15 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride, urban primadonna

When it comes to hailing a cab in the metro between the hours of three and eight in the evening, only one rule applies: it’s every man for himself. For someone who doesn’t know how to drive (you laugh, but wait ’til I kill myself because I had one too many rumcolas and ended up ramming my car into a wall) and for someone who doesn’t own a car, the term ‘Rush Hour’ basically translates to “I, Helga Gabrielle Weber, am fucked; I might as well grab myself a 1-piece chicken with rice meal, a Tomato-Lettuce-Cheeseburger, and a large fries from Jollibee and head back to the condo to play more Sims 2 (which is actually the reason as to why I ended up not leaving home early enough to avoid rush hour) because there is no waaay in hell am I going to get out of Katipunan; not right now, not in the next hour, not until 9PM”.

That was the case the other day. Tonight, I did not have the liberty of flipping the evening Katipunan crowd the finger so I prepared myself for the worst, left my laptop at home, and traveled lightly (ooh, so dramatic for a twenty minute cab ride to Pasig).

I waited seven minutes for a cab outside my building (I know it was seven minutes because that’s how long it takes for me to smoke a cigarette) and nothing. I flagged down a tricycle, got off at McDonald’s, and walked down Katipunan Avenue because lawd knows I’d have better luck getting a cab there. I checked the time on my phone: a little past seven. I figured that most students must have gotten home by now and I’d have an easier time getting a cab. WRONG.

Now like I said: it’s every man (or woman) for himself (or herself) this time of the day. No acts of gentlemanliness or kindness occur when it comes to getting your ass in a cab; and really, no one expects any sort of chivalry during desperate times. What I do expect, though, is some fucking decency; some evidence that these rich college kids aren’t a bunch of assholes and fuckheads.

Or maybe I’m too mannered when it comes to certain things. Am I the only one who thinks that there’s such a thing as, uh, cab hailing etiquette? And if there isn’t, well, there should be. Nevermind that you’re dealing with strangers and people you’ll never encounter again (thus, giving you the excuse not to be nice pffft)— it’s not right to steal someone else’s cab.

So I have here a super short list called The One Thing You Should Never To Do To Your Fellow Stranded-In-The-Metro-During-Rush-Hour-Waiting-For-A-Cab Men When You’re Stranded In The Metro During Rush Hour Waiting For A Cab:

1) DO NOT HOUND SOMEONE WHO’S WAITING FOR A CAB, IN HOPES OF BEATING THEM TO THE FIRST CAB THAT SLOWS IN FRONT OF THEM. There is nothing more annoying than this, I swear. On the same note: when waiting for a cab, keep a distance of at least ten meters between you and the person in front of you. Do not give them the impression that you are itching to pounce on the next cab that merrily rolls your way— a cab that’s rightfully theirs.

I remember this time when I was running late for work and it was 5pm on a weekday on Katipunan Avenue. I was standing outside Red Ribbon, desperate for a cab when two Korean girls sneakily made their way behind me. I looked at them, shrugged them off for being weird and Korean-y, and started walking towards 7-11 (better chance of getting a cab from someone getting off at the condo building). They were tailing me, planning to steal my cab! The non-English speaking Korean nerve!!!

So I killed them.

Comments (14)